Bow Polly and m 
yottnd Santa Clau$ 

....By 
Biina gftaplB Ray 




Bow Polly and ned 
found Santa Claus 


Unita Chapin Ray 


Plcinm 


. ..By 
H. W. B. ElHcoln 


ir 


Priyately Primed 


mdcccxcviii 


For Florence and Ralph and Beth 
and Burt this little story was first 
written. To them I dedicate it 
once more. 










'P' 


10469 


Copyright 1898, by 
Anna Chapin Ray. 


Bow Polly and Bed 

Tound Santa Claus 

V, 


I. 



NCE upon a time, not 
so very long ago, in a 
cosy little house in The 
Country of The Every- 
day — not the middle of 
the country, but just 
on the borders of Fairy Land, across 
the Dream River — Polly and Ned sat 
in the firelight, talking about Santa 
Claus. 

Mosey sat between them. Mosey 
was their little gray dog, all ears and 
paws and not any tail to speak of. 
Just now, he was looking up into Ned’s 
eyes with his two great wishful brown 
ones, as if he too wanted to have a fin- 
ger in the pie, and a tongue in the talk. 



“ I do wish I knew how to get word 
to him,” Polly said, clasping her hands 
in the lap of her blue checked apron. 
She usually wore white aprons in the 
afternoon; but, to-day, she had been 
naughty, so her mamma had made her 
put on her blue apron again, and now 
Polly’s feelings were hurt about it 

“Why not write to him?” Ned sug- 
gested. Ned was two years younger 
than Polly, and wore spectacles and a 
shirt waist. Polly used to envy him, 
because the spectacles had shiny gold 
frames, and because he didn’t have to 
wear blue aprons. For that reason, she 
used to snub him sometimes, for fear he 
would get too uppish. 

“What an idea!” she said now, scorn- 
fully. “ Only babies write to Santa 
Claus, Ned. When people are as old 
as you and I, they know it isn’t any 


use. 


But Ned was a true boy, and he 
wanted the reason. 

“How do you know ?” he demanded. 

“ Be - cause.” 

“ Well, ’cause what ? ” 

“’Cause I wrote to him, last year, 
and it didn’t do any good,” Polly con- 
fessed. 

“ You did ? What’d you write ?” 

“ I asked him for a pony and a baby 
brother, and I didn’t get anything but a 
new sled and Rosa Theresa.” 

“ But you said you loved Rosa The- 
resa, just yesterday,” Ned observed, 
while he patted Mosey’s head. 



“ She’s well enough for a doll,” Polly 
said loftily; “but I wanted something 
alive. I’ll tell you, Ned, we’ll go ask 
the Brown Woman how to find Santa 
Claus. I must find him, this year, for 
there are dozens of things 1 want, and 


Mamma said, to-day, that if I kept on 
being naughty, Santa Claus wouldn’t 
come here at all.” 

“Maybe he’ll come to see me,” Ned 
suggested. 

“Huh, you’re as naughty as I am, 
every single bit, so there now ! No ; 
we’ll go to the Brown Woman, this 
very night. She can tell us just what 
to do, Ned ; and we’ll have a visit from 
Santa Claus, after all.” 

Sure enough, that very night after 
their mamma had tucked them into bed, 
Polly and Ned started off to find the 
Brown Woman. She lived just across 
the Dream River, and little boats kept 
sailing back and forth from The Coun- 
try of the Everyday to the gate of her 
back garden where flowers are always 
in blossom, even in the middle of the 
winter. Mosey wouldn’t go too. He 
never was willing to cross the river with 
them ; but he always stayed close beside 



the bank, to be ready to waggle a wel- 
come to them, when they came home 
again. 

“To find Santa Claus?” the Brown 
Woman repeated, wrapping her cloak 
around her more tightly than ever, as 



she stooped to look into the children’s 
eyes. “I can tell you what to do. To- 
morrow night, when everyone else is 
asleep, you must cross the Dream River 
again, go up the hill, and on and on 
until you come to the Happy Oak. 
You will know which it is, for the wind 
is always laughing while it slides through 
the branches. Under the tree you will 
find the wishing stones, round, brown 
stones with a narrow white band about 
them. Don’t move the stones ; don’t 
even touch them. Instead of that, you 


must each of you dig a hole close 
beside one of the stones, whisper into 
the hole all the things you wish Santa 
Claus to bring you, whisper them so 
low that no one else can hear you, and 
cover them up tight. Santa knows the 
wishing stones. Late at night, he will 
come and dig up the earth near them. 
Then, if he finds your wishes buried 
there, he will carry them off and bring 
you the things you have wished for. 
Only he must not be disturbed. Re- 
member that; and remember, if you 
should meet anyone on the way home, 
you musn’t stop to talk, or to waste a 
moment, for fear you might forget your 
way home, and be drowned in the 
Dream River.” 

“ But all that takes too long,” Polly 
said forlornly. “ Christmas isn’t but 
two days off, Brown Woman, and this 
is my only chance to find Santa Claus.” 

“He will probably go to your house, 
anyway,” the Brown Woman said, shak- 
ing back her long, dark hair and stoop- 
ing to look still more sharply into 
Polly’s eyes. 

Polly hung her head. 

“I was naughty,” she said in a low 
voice ; “ and mamma says Santa Claus 
doesn’t come to naughty girls.” 



The Brown Woman suddenly straight- 
ened up, till she stood before them, tall 
and slender, with her brown eyes raised 
to the stars above her. 

“ Little Polly and little Ned,” she 
said slowly ; “ listen to me, for I know 
better than your mother has told you. 
Santa Claus comes to everybody, good 
and bad alike ; but he has ever so many 
masks and he brings ever so many kinds 
of things in his pack, so that not every- 
body is able to know him when he 
comes. There is only one way to be 
sure of knowing him, my dear children ; 
there is one magic word I can teach 
you. If you keep it always on your 
lips, you are sure to know old Santa 



Claus and to find only good things in 
his pack.” 

“ Please, ma’am, what is it ? ” Polly 
and Ned asked in the same breath. 

She smiled down at them, and her 
smile seemed to have caught some of 
the brightness of the stars above her 
head. 

“ It is Good Will Toward Men!' she 
said, and, turning, she walked away. 

“ But what does it mean. Brown 
Woman ?” Polly cried after her. 

The Brown Woman never paused in 
her walk. 



“ Say it over and over again till you 
know the words by heart ; then you 
will find out what they mean. That is 
all I can teach you. My mother taught 
it to me,” she answered, over her 
shoulder. 

Then she vanished in the darkness. 


II. 



1 OR the first time in his 
life, Mosey crossed the 
Dream River, the next 
night, with Polly and 
Ned. They had ex- 
pected to leave him at 
home; but when they 
stepped into the little 
boat to cross the river. Mosey jumped 
in after them and curled himself up in 
Ned’s arms. He pretended to go fast 
asleep ; but he wasn’t asleep a bit. That 
wasn’t Mosey’s way. One eye, the one 
towards Ned, was tight shut, and 
Mosey snored a little, now and then ; 
but his other eye was wide open and 
both pointed ears were all a-tremble. 



each time the children spoke. As soon 
as they reached the bank, he hopped 
out of the boat and trotted off into 
Fairy Land, with his ears pointing 
straight upward and his tail trying to 



do the same thing, but it was so short 
it could only poke out just a little, little 
way. 

Behind him, Ned and Polly walked 
hand in hand, stopping often to listen 


i 


and to look over their shoulders, for it 
was all very dark around them, and they 
were just the least bit afraid. As soon 
as they came to the Happy Oak, 
though, they forgot to be afraid any 
more, they were in such a hurry to find 
the wishing stones, and in such anxiety 
for fear they might happen to touch 
one of them. Above them, the great, 
gnarly branches of the oak tree stretched 
out ever so far on either hand, and 
clear up in the topmost twigs was a 



thick clump of green leaves which had 
forgotten to fall. The wind laughed 
and whistled merrily as it went sliding 
through them, and the moon, which had 
just peeped out of a cloud, seemed to 
Ned to be laughing and winking down 
at him. This comforted him a little; 
for the moon never winks at naughty 



boys, and he was beginning to be very 
anxious about his visit from Santa 
Claus. 

He was still staring up at the tree 
above him and at the jolly round moon, 
when Polly pulled his hand. 

“ Look at Mosey,” she whispered. 

Sure enough, right beside a round 
brown stone with a white stripe about 
it, Mosey’s paws were flying fast and 
flirting the loose earth away on this side 
and on that. Then he paused and snuf- 
fled out a few words, dog words that 
Ned and Polly couldn’t understand, 
gave another pat to the earth, then 
turned his back to the hole, sat down 



on his haunches, with his tongue hang- 
ing far out of his mouth, and waited to 
see what the children would do. 

“ It’s his Christmas wish,” Ned said 
softly. “We must hang up his stock- 
ing, too, Polly.” 

But Polly had dropped his hand. 

“ Here’s a stone for you, Ned,” she 
said excitedly ; “ and here’s one for me. 
Quick, quick, before anyone finds us 
and speaks to us ! ” 



Only a few minutes later, they turned 
away and took the path to the river 
again. Mosey ran on ahead of them, 
till he was out of sight, far down the 
winding path. Suddenly the children 
heard him barking and yelping. 

“ It’s cats,” Ned said. 

“ It’s the Brown Woman,” Polly 
added. 

“ Come, Mosey ! ” Ned called. 



“ Hsh ! ” Polly cautioned him. “ You 
know we musn’t speak to anybody, or 
we shall get lost here, and that would 
be dreadful, for then we couldn’t have 
any Christmas at all.” 

“ Couldn’t Santa Claus come here ? ” 
Ned asked anxiously. 

“ ’Course, you goosie ; but what good 
would it do us, when we haven’t any 
clean stockings to hang up ? ” 

Just then a turn in the road brought 
them in sight of Mosey, who was danc- 
ing about an old man in the pathway, 
nipping at his legs, barking as if he 
would split his little throat, then paus- 
ing to survey his victim with laughing 
eyes that were even more insulting than 
his bark. It was a shabby old man 
with a smooth-shaven face and bright 
blue eyes. His old coat hung in rags 
about him, and he was resting on a 


clumsy crutch, while before him lay a 
torn brown bag and a scattered pile of 
brown potatoes. 

“ It’s my Christmas dinner,” he said 
fretfully. “ I dropped ’em, and now I 
can’t get down to pick ’em up. Go 
’way, dog ! ” He struck at Mosey with 
his crutch. 

Mosey dodged the blow. Then he 
took the end of the crutch in his teeth 
and worried it as he would have worried 
a cat. It was great fun for Mosey ; 
but the man looked so tired and shabby 
that Polly forgave him a little for his 
crossness. 

“What shall we do, Ned?” she whis- 



pered. “We musn’t speak to him, or 
we shall lose our way. 

“ Maybe it’s Santa Claus, going to 
dig up our wishes,” Ned said hopefully. 



“What was it the Brown Woman told 
us to say ? ” 

They whispered and nodded for a 
moment. Then, together, with their 
eyes fixed on the man, they shouted, — 

**Good Will toward Men / — Thumbs ! ” 
And they pressed their thumbs tight 
together. 

“ Emerson ! ” Polly added. 

Polly went to kindergarten. 

“ Isaac Watts ! ” Ned echoed. 

Ned went to Sunday school. 

Then they looked up at the man once 
more, half expecting to see him turned 
into Santa Claus. No ; there he stood, 
just the same, shabby and cross and 
tired. 

“Tisn’t Santa Claus,” Ned said de- 
spondently. “Come, Mosey, let’s go 
home.” 

“No,” Polly said suddenly. “Let’s 
pick up his dinner, first. We don’t 





need to speak to him, you know ; but 
it’s too bad to have him lose his Christ- 
mas dinner.” 

“I’ve got some string,” Ned said, 
plunging one hand into his pocket, for 
even dream clothes must have pockets 
when a boy wears them. “I’ll mend 
his bag while you pick up.” 

Even Mosey caught the spirit and 
ran to and fro, bringing Polly the 
potatoes that had rolled farthest away. 
The old man stood waiting, frowning a 
little, but not fretting any more. But 



when the children handed him the bag, 
smiling and putting their fingers on 
their lips to show that their silence was 
not a sulky silence, his blue eyes sud- 
denly grew friendly, and he laid one 
wrinkled hand on each little head. 

“A Merry Christmas to you!” he 
said in a deeper, fuller voice than they 



had heard before. “And may an old 
man’s gratitude help to fill your Christ- 
mas stockings ! ” 

********* 

Just as the clock struck twelve, the 
next night, Polly sat up in her little 
bed and stared hard at the chimney. 
On the other side of the room, Ned sat 
up in bed, too, and Mosey, who had 
been snoring loudly a moment before, 
stuck up his ears to listen. 

Down the chimney there came, not 
the Santa Claus they had hoped for, 
but a shabby old man in ragged clothes, 
leaning on a crutch and carrying a torn 
brown bag tied up with a string. In 
their disappointment the children could 
have cried. Then they drew in a sharp 
breath of surprise and delight. Out 
from the tattered bag came, one after 


the other, dolls and books and candy, 
carpenter tools, drums and rocking 
horses taller than the table, and finally 
a brand new collar for Mosey, with a 
great pink bow tied on it. Never did 



a bag hold so much before. Never 
were stockings so crammed with good- 
ies. They overflowed on the mantel 
and the chairs and the floor until there 
was nothing left for Polly and Ned to 
wish for. 

Then of a sudden, while they were 
watching him, the old man seemed to 
change before their very eyes. He 
grew shorter and more stout. Then he 
threw aside his crutch and his shabby 
coat, pulled off his mask and stepped 
forward to the little beds, the jolly fur- 
clad saint whom the children love so well. 




“ Listen,” he said slowly, and his 
voice was like a deep-toned bell, clear 
and ringing, yet soft withal. “ Polly 
and Ned, you have learned your Christ- 
mas lesson ; you have learned the words, 
and you have found out what they 
mean. You helped the shabby old man 
who had lost his Christmas dinner, 
even though you thought that, in doing 
it, you might lose your own Christmas 
wishes. That is why I have come to 
you to-night. A Merry Christmas to 
you, and good night ! Next year we 
shall meet again.” 

He vanished as swiftly and as silently 
as the clouds on Ranier vanish before 
the sun ; and, as he went, the chimes in 
the church tower, close by, began to 
play, welcoming the Christmas morn. 

“ Good Will! ” they sang. “ Good 
Will toward Men^ toward Men / Good 
Will towards Men / ” 


But long before they had ended their 
song, Polly and Ned had cuddled down 
again among the blankets and started 
off to Fairy Land, across the Dream 
River, to thank the Brown Woman for 
the good advice she had given them. 



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